Trapped
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: Sherlock and John are on their way to catch the murderer. However, when they turn up to his hiding spot, there is no sign and there's something else waiting for them. Johnlock. One shot. Please leave reviews.


Sherlock and John ran to the crime scene, not knowing what to expect. It was an old, abandoned church that they had been called to because of a murder which they had solved and were off to catch the murderer. They hailed over a cab in no time and waited anxiously in the back. "Are you sure they'll be there?"

"Of course, where else would they go?" Sherlock nodded quickly.

"But what if they suspect that we will check there?" John knew Sherlock was nearly always correct, and the times he wasn't were very few. However, he always questioned it, just to be sure.

"John, I am absolutely sure he will be there. We've both studied this case and we both came to the same conclusion; he's hiding there. There's no need to doubt it." Sherlock spoke as the driver pulled up outside of the church.

Both men hurried towards the building, ready to capture the criminal. They entered the empty, silent building and looked around. John looked between isles, picking a dusty prayer book up as he searched through one, wondering how long it had been since anyone had been there. Sherlock kept focused on the case at hand; there was a criminal to catch. He searched throughout the church, trying not to leave any stone untouched.

A while had passed, and yet there was still no sign of the murderer. "Still no sign?" John asked as he found Sherlock searching the same places over and over. Sherlock shook his head angrily and in disbelief; the murderer had to be there. "Maybe he knew we were coming?"

"Yes, but _how?_ How could he have known?"

"Could be smarter than you think."

"I seriously doubt that, unless..." Sherlock trailed off as he looked up towards the ceiling.

"Unless what?" John asked as he stared at the same thing Sherlock did. Sherlock slowly brought his head down, stared to his companion in shock and realised what was happening.

"Unless he had help." he spoke quickly. "We need to get out, now!" he ran as he spoke, attempting to pull John along. John kept asking why, but Sherlock couldn't tell him as he tried to save him. Unfortunately, they were too late. The bombs exploded and the whole building collapsed right on top of them, leaving them stuck under all of the rubble.

John coughed as he opened his eyes, blinking as he slowly made out the image ahead of him. He attempted to move his arm to try and rub his eye, but he soon realised it was not an option. He panted a little as he tried to move his legs and his other arm. His other arm was free, but ached, and his legs were covered in stone. "Sher... Sherlock?!" he screamed as he managed to push himself up a little. He swiveled his head as an attempt to find his friend, but there was no reply. "Sherlock?!" he screamed again. This time, he heard a groan coming from the rubble. He shouted once more, and this time got a reply.

"John...?" he spoke quietly, but loud enough for John to hear. He opened his eyes slowly, and realised what had happened. He could taste blood in his mouth as he had been hit in the head by a huge part of the church. The back of his head bled and blood poured down the front left side. His arms were free, but his leg was trapped under a huge piece of the roof. He screamed as he tried to move it. Then, he stared above him at a piece of glass that sat right over his stomach. He watched as it wobbled a little, but didn't yet fall. However, he knew any sudden movement could cause it to come straight down. So, he stopped himself moving and stared at it, trying to control it with his eyes.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John knew this was a stupid question after he'd just heard him scream, but he had to ask.

"I... I'm fine." he spoke weakly. "Just a small scratch on my face, and my leg's a bit stuck. But it's fine. I'll be fine." he tried to barely move his lips as he spoke. "You know me, John. I'm virtually indestructible." he chuckled a little as he spoke, trying to make it all, not cheerful, but nicer than it actually was.

"Yeah." John smiled as he sighed a little. He knew Sherlock was in more pain and had more injuries than he would let on, but he didn't pester him about it.

"How... how are you?" Sherlock dreaded the answer, worrying about the severity of his friend's injuries.

"Well, my arm's stuck, my legs won't really move, and I'm in a lot of bloody pain." he said, flinching as he spoke. Sherlock sighed. "But, you know, I'm a doctor; I can sort it when we get out." John said, wondering whether they would actually get out or not. "How... how will we get out?"

"I... I'm sure someone will... find us." Sherlock coughed as he spoke. He doubted that they would be found as the church was quite out of reach, but he didn't want John to know. "Have you got a hand free?"

"Uh... yeah, just about."

"Try... and reach for your phone or something."

"It's probably broken."

"There may be a slight... chance it won't be." John paused.

"Are you okay? You seem like you're struggling to speak or something?" Sherlock didn't want to speak as much because he needed to concentrate on the glass above him, and because he kept coughing a little as he did so.

"Fine. Now, your phone."

"Sherlock, it'll be broken-"

"John, just trust me. Get your phone." Sherlock insisted. John sighed and did as he was told. It was quite a struggle for him to reach, and it hurt him a lot. Sherlock could hear him shout in pain, and it hurt him to listen, but he had to do this because what other chance would they have?

Eventually, he reached it. Miraculously, it hadn't been too badly damaged. The screen had cracked and it had almost been crushed, yet he could still just about use it. He called an ambulance as quickly as he could. "Done." he threw his phone down, knowing it wasn't going to be of good use anymore.

"Good..." Sherlock sighed as he looked down to his leg which was hurting more and more by the second. The stone had fallen and dug straight through the skin and bone. It ached like hell. He placed his hands around it, carefully and slowly as he didn't want the glass to fall.

They both lay underneath rocks, waiting for their rescue. Sherlock grunted and panted in agony due to the searing pain in his leg and head, and John slowly attempted to move his arm. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked. "Will we... make this out alive?" John asked, breathing heavily as he tried to move but failed. Sherlock closed his eyes gently.

"I... I hope so. I really do." that's what worried John. He could finally hear the fear in his friend's voice. The trembling and desperation that he had never heard from the consulting detective. Sherlock was so strong and uneasily scared, that this proved to John that Sherlock Holmes was worried for his life and doubted whether the paramedics would arrive in time. This proved that Sherlock Holmes was no machine. He wasn't superior. He just had an ice cold exterior, which had now been broken into.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he waited, wishing for their quick arrival. John knew he had to say something; he had to do something to keep Sherlock going. "Afghanistan or Iraq." he spoke. Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head slightly. "That was the first thing you ever said to me." John smiled as he reminisced. "Normal people just say hello." Sherlock choked a little as tears formed in his eyes.

"I think you've realised by now I'm not normal people."

"I guess not." John sighed. Both of them sat, smiling as they remembered the days that they had spent together. Imagining the days that could be. "It's not over, you know?" John said as he cried a little. "This isn't our final goodbye."

"What... what if it is?" Sherlock stared at the glass, watching it as it nearly slipped closed towards his body.

"Don't. We will get out of here, okay? They're on their way. We'll get out. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Sherlock smiled a little out of sadness, hoping it would be true.

"Why... why did you chose me?" John asked, out of the blue. Sherlock blinked for a moment, wondering what he meant. "As your flatmate, I mean."

"I didn't chose you as a flat mate," he choked a little. "I chose you as a friend." John smiled as he heard Sherlock say what he said. "I chose you because... you could see what others couldn't. You are the heart to my head, John Watson, and I don't know... what I would do without you." there was a silence for a moment. "If this is to be our final moment together, I need you to know, John that I... I-" as he spoke, a faint tapping was hear from the distance. The two men listened out and soon realised it was the sound of footsteps. The paramedics had arrived. Before Sherlock could finish what he was about to say, John cheered a little as he could see them.

"I told you they would come, Sherlock." he smiled. Sherlock nodded and smiled as he shut his mouth, knowing he shouldn't continue.

The paramedics rushed in. Only two could go in at a time as some of the building was still collapsing and it was a risk sending more than two people in. Sherlock was closest to the door. He was the first choice to be taken out. However when they came over, he shook his head. He indicated to the glass on top of him which was dangling on almost by a thread. The paramedics then took a look at the rocks covering his legs, and the blood pouring from both that and his head. They were going to try and get him out first, yet he refused. "There's... there's someone else. Over there." he moved his hand in the direction of John.

"But the longer we leave you, the higher the risk of the glass falling on you or even more loss of blood."

"I don't... I don't care." he coughed. "He needs help. He has a higher chance of surviving, please. Save him." the paramedics sighed and then ran over to where John was buried. They slowly and carefully got the rock from over his arm off and carried him out to safety. As they did so, they passed Sherlock and John saw the state of his leg and his face. Then, he noticed the piece of glass on top of him and gasped as he worried about his friend's safety.

The paramedics got John out and handed him to the team as they went back in for Sherlock. They knew to tread carefully in case of the glass. One of them stood by the top of him, trying to hold his head up realising there was a lot more blood flowing out than as it had seemed. The other was at the bottom attempting to get the rock off Sherlock's leg. It took them a while to do so, as they had to be extra cautious due to the glass, but they soon got it off. As they did, Sherlock screamed in agony. He could barely breathe as the pain hit him hard. However, he didn't have much time to concentrate on it as the paramedics quickly pulled him from the rubble and carried him. The glass fell, scratching a side of his head a little. Fortunately, he got out quickly enough so it didn't do so much damage. On the other hand, he was still screaming as he had just been pulled hard from underneath it and was now being carried out. He cried as he was put on the trolley and given an oxygen mask as he continued to cough, as did John. They were both taken to the hospital. Sherlock passed out in the ambulance on the way there due to the sheer pain.

John woke up in a hospital bed. His arm had been treated and he was doing well. The doctor was there when he woke up, as were Lestrade and Molly. They all smiled to him as he woke. "Hello, Mr Watson." the doctor smiled to him as he picked up his chart. "How are you feeling?" John seemed a little confused as he woke, but soon adjusted.

"I... I'm fine." he said as he sat himself up.

"Good, good. You're definitely improving, everything's going well, very well. It's lucky the only serious injury you really had was with your hand." he indicated to the hand in plaster. John nodded back and smiled thankfully. Then, he realised who was missing. He realised who wasn't there with him. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked quickly as he looked around for his friend. The doctor sighed and Lestrade and Molly looked to him sympathetically. He panted as he worried and then asked them again. "What happened to him? Will he be alright, is he safe?"

"Mr Holmes was rushed into theatre as soon as he got here," the doctor coughed. "He'd suffered very serious injuries to his leg and to his head." John stared to him in disbelief. "There were a few pieces of glass and broken stones inside his leg, as well as the side of his head."

"Is he... is he alive?" the doctors silence gave John his answer.

"He had an excessive amount of blood loss, and the injuries to his head were incredibly serious. We did everything we could, Mr Watson, but he died on the operating table." John closed his eyes gently. "I'm very, very sorry for your loss." John didn't open his eyes as he cried a little, nodding his head to the doctor. The doctor sighed and nodded to Lestrade and Molly sympathetically. They thanked him and then turned back to John. "John, I'm so sorry." Molly said as she held his hand.

"Me too, mate. If there's anything we can do... just let us now."

"I want... I want to see him." John choked, opening his eyes as he tried to stop crying.

"What?"

"I want to see Sherlock. I _need _to see him."

John was taken to see Sherlock's corpse in the morgue. Lestrade and Molly left him alone with him, knowing he needed to have this time with him as they didn't get to say a proper goodbye. "Sherlock?" he choked as he began. "Sherlock, I... I'm sorry." he sighed as he broke down in front of his friend's lifeless body. He placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose as he cried. "I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault. If... if I had let them take you first. If I had said no, maybe you would still be alive." he looked at his friend. "You'd be here, with me. Annoying the nurses, being your usual, arrogant self." he joked, smiling a little. "If you were here you might have laughed at that. But, the thing is, you _weren't_ arrogant. You _weren't _selfish. You saved my life, Sherlock. Maybe you think I didn't hear you. Maybe you didn't know that I was listening, but I heard you tell them to get me first. I heard you say that I had more of a chance. _Why?_ Why did you have to be so bloody _stupid, _Sherlock?!" he shouted, almost getting angry. "Why didn't you just tell me about your leg, about how really bad it was. Or about your head, or the fucking huge piece of glass hanging right above you? _Why?_ Was it to spare me something? Was it so I didn't feel so worried? Because, here's a news flash for you, I was still worried anyway! Of course I was! Did you think I couldn't hear you coughing or panting? Or when you were _quietly _groaning in agony? Of course I could! I knew you were in pain and I knew you were frightened! That's why I said something! That's why I changed the subject!" John shouted. Then, he sighed. He realised he was just acting out because he couldn't believe it. He didn't want it to be true. "I... I'm sorry. You don't deserve that. You don't deserve me. You saved my life. If I hadn't have been there you would have got out safe and been alive. In fact, if you were here, you'd probably be questioning why I am even bothering talking to you right now because it won't help save you. It won't help bring you back." he rubbed his eyes slowly. "I just... I just, I need you, Sherlock. You complete me. I never got to say. I never got to tell you how I felt. Not once did it occur to me to just say "I love you". I always assumed you knew, you observe, so I just thought you would have said something if you felt the same. And, it was in that church, underneath all that rubble, that I realised I had to tell you. I had to say something. But, right before I could... right before I was about to... you tried to say something. You told me you had too. You never got to finish. Now, I think I know what you were going to say. I _hope _it's what I think you were going to say, because I feel the same. I always have and I always will. There will never be another Sherlock Holmes for me. You were always mine. I just wish you could have finished. I just wish I could know that that's what you were going to say. I just... I just..." John sighed and grabbed his friend's hand, realising it wasn't really his friend anymore but just his corpse. "I just wish I had told you how much you meant to me, before it was too late." he sighed as he bowed his head. Tears streaming down his face.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading :) Please leave your comments/opinions, thanks :)**_


End file.
